Zeus was the second-generation king of the Titans, the embodiment of both the creative and destructive powers of time, son of Kronos, the god of creation and destruction of time and space.
From birth, he wielded the forces of the sky and thunder.
From the moment he was born, Zeus was destined to be extraordinary. Even Kronos regarded him with deep caution.
His elders and siblings revered him as their leader, and under his command they overthrew Kronos' cruel reign.
From then on, he led the Olympian pantheon to dominate the divine realm, where all gods bowed before him.
Whether rebellious Titans or Typhon, progenitor of monsters, all had fallen to him.
Since his birth, such a Zeus had never suffered humiliation like this.
A mere human, how could one grasp such overwhelming power and even ascend to godhood?
Restraining his pride out of fear of his opponent's strength, the king of gods had lowered himself in an attempt to win him over. Yet the other had shamelessly exposed his disgraceful secrets to all.
Such humiliation was unbearable for Zeus.
Especially Hecate's last words:
"What can you do to me?"
A pitiful mortal, once nothing more than a puppet fashioned by them, now dared to flaunt such arrogance before him.
Intolerable. Absolutely intolerable.
At last, Zeus erupted.
"You truly believe that I, king of the gods, would cower before you?" Zeus roared, his voice thunderous with fury.
"You truly believe that a shred of borrowed power makes you my equal? Ignorant rebel!
Strength without mastery does not make you strong. Let me show you, newborn god, you are still far too green."
With that, he raised both hands high.
In the heavens above, violent bolts of lightning gathered madly in the king of gods' palms, coalescing into a terrifying sphere of thunder.
"Feel the judgment of the king of the gods!"
With his roar, the earth-shattering lightning sphere was hurled at Hecate.
On the island of Colchis, the magi fell into panic.
Though they were magi, none below the legendary rank had ever witnessed the war of gods. Aside from the ritual earlier, never had they seen such destructive might.
They understood all too clearly, should that strike fall, even if Hecate herself survived, the island would be utterly destroyed.
In ancient Greece, Zeus' name was one of the most feared, deeply ingrained in their hearts, one reason Alaric had concealed the Apotheosis Ritual from them.
Most of them began to pray silently, hoping that Hecate truly could withstand Zeus.
Facing his attack, Hecate only smiled faintly and lifted a slender hand.
From the heavens descended a vast, multicolored plane of shimmering light, spanning the skies and firmly shielding both her and the island of Colchis.
This spell was called the Prismatic Wall, a seven-layered defense, each layer a different color with a different effect.
Though protective in nature, prismatic magic had always represented the pinnacle of evocation, the ultimate fusion and mastery of the elements.
The raging thunder crashed against the prismatic wall, unleashing a shrill detonation. The scattered bolts tore at the skies, but the wall held them firmly at bay.
"Damnable magic!"
Zeus, refusing to yield, struck again and again at the towering wall before him.
For ordinary magi, divinity granted their foes natural resistance to spells, and divine power infused their attacks with a force that ordinary wards could scarcely endure.
But this was magic cast by the goddess of magic herself.
At last, after relentless assault, the prismatic wall's power was exhausted, and Hecate's defense shattered.
Yet Zeus felt no triumph.
After all, all he had done was exhaust her shield from a single layer of mana, nothing remarkable. Hecate had hardly exerted herself in weaving that wall.
And what god would dare claim they could outmatch the goddess of magic in raw reserves of power?
With a wave of her hand, another prismatic wall rose instantly in place.
The magi on the island erupted into cheers.
They had seen it all clearly: their goddess, with a mere flick of her wrist, summoned a defense that the king of gods strained himself to break. Yet for her, such barriers were inexhaustible.
This, this was the true power of magic.
Watching the helpless Zeus before her, Hecate smiled slightly. "Since you have no means of attack, then it is my turn, taste the wrath of magic!"
At her words, countless spells gathered around her.
Pale blue torrents of ice and snow, freezing all into stillness.
Fiery orange-red flames, scorching and devouring all.
Heavy earthen-yellow stones, crushing with irresistible weight.
Nearly invisible currents of wild, howling tornadoes, tearing across the skies.
Deep green rains of acid, corroding all they touched.
Violet and white lightning bolts, fierce and merciless in their judgment.
Golden beams of blazing sunlight, divine and searing as the sun itself.
And shadows deep as night, suffocating as a nightmare of death.
…
All elements converged, their dreadful aura spreading across heaven and earth.
Then Hecate pointed forward with but a single finger.
"Go!"
In that instant, countless devastating spells surged forth, threatening to drown the gods themselves.
Avalanche, Polar Ray, Firestorm, Cloudkill, Earthquake, Petrifying Ray, Whirlwind, Tornado, Acid Fog, Acid Rain, Chain Lightning, Tempest, Sunburst, Solar Ray, Tide of Darkness, Rupture, Meteor Swarm…
Against gods, ordinary spells inflicted little harm. Yet the endless cascade of top-tier evocations from the goddess of magic drove the gods into torment.
All they could do was raise divine shields and resist the ceaseless storm.
The sky itself became a riot of colors, painted by the brilliance of unending magic.
From every leyline, no, from the Weave itself, power flowed endlessly into Hecate's hands. Her strength became as boundless as infinity, her spells inexhaustible.
Where ordinary magi required incantations, careful shaping of models in their minds, then channeling mana through those models into form, the goddess of magic needed only a single thought.
The entire process vanished, and magic took shape at her will.
Spells of the seventh, eighth, and ninth circle, those great spells that ordinary magi required painstaking preparation to unleash, became, in her hands, as cheap and rapid as bullets from a machine gun.
This Gatling gun of high-circle spells revealed the true grandeur of magic before the gods.
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